


Sometimes, Only Sometimes

by deux_lunes



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Drabble, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 08:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deux_lunes/pseuds/deux_lunes
Summary: "Sometimes, I forget you're married," he once told me. I never forgot he wasn't.Originally posted on Livejournal. Drabble fic.





	Sometimes, Only Sometimes

I never once forgot that I was married. I know that people thought I did, especially the women I fucked. A lot of them didn’t even realize that I was; I saw them glancing at my ring finger but I never once corrected them.

Sometimes after sex, I would think about Cyn, wondering what she was up to. I could never even come up with a conceivable fantasy. She knew, of course. When I finally came home, I reeked of pussy and adultery. She just kissed me with her lips closed.

Paul was the only one who brought Cynthia up. It made sense that it would be him; I would refer to him as my husband in my mind, so I wasn’t surprised that he would bring up my wife. When we made love, he would finger where my absent ring was. Then he took my hand into his. And he kissed me with his lips open.

“Sometimes I forget you’re married,” he once told me. I never forgot that he wasn’t. Paul didn’t live in this sin. Paul fucked his women and he fucked me with a clear conscience. I swallowed my anger and held him tighter next to me because I knew he was lying. When I first kissed him, he pulled back and said, horrified, “But you’re _married_!” It didn’t stop him for long.

Once, after getting stupendously drunk, I rang Paul up on the phone. Stumbling over my own tongue, I finally managed the words, “Wanna marry you.” I don’t remember too well, but I remember him hanging up on me. I remember the days that followed quite vividly, for Paul wouldn’t speak to me, would barely even look at me. The veins from my heart pulsed painfully throughout my body, residing in my left hand. After a week, Paul’s own left hand took my right, and squeezed it softly. He hadn’t said yes.

Sometimes, I thought about running away. Leaving my wife, leaving my husband, leaving my child and friends, and everyone. Acid let me do that—with acid, I could be free. I could 

fly rings around these rings, and no one was there to claim their kisses, with open or closed lips.

Paul would be sitting next to me once I woke from my colorful dreams, holding my hands in his. I would forget why I had been dreaming in the first place, and take him in my arms. I tried to talk while I kissed him: “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He soon shushed me and after, I didn’t even want to talk. 

“Some time, I think we should go,” I whispered once. “Just you and me. To somewhere.” When I said this, he smiled at me, lips spread into a full, beautiful smile. He didn’t say anything… nothing about Cynthia, nothing about sin, nothing about my own words. He simply leaned forward and kissed me. He said yes.

The End


End file.
